


Supplicant

by ava_jamison



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_jamison/pseuds/ava_jamison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I waited,” Selina says, touching down on the roof of her apartment building. “You weren’t there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supplicant

“I waited,” Selina says, touching down on the roof of her apartment building. “You weren’t there.”

“I know.”

“Not at the park.”

“I know,” Bruce says again. The night air is chilled, but he’s sweating under the batsuit. “I came as soon as I could. I—” He’s stumbling over his words. “I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow and I thought maybe I could—”

“Stay over?” Her tone is sharp. He’s screwed up.

He focuses on the horizon but doesn’t see it, all too aware of her, just three feet away.

She crosses her arms, shrugs.

His fingers itch to… He won’t fidget, won’t—so he balls his hands at his sides.

“Tough night?”

He nods, once.

She watches him, her head tilted, eyes narrowed. Then sighs, slipping her coiled whip over his head. He feels the braided leather rub against him through the cowl, feels its pull as she leads him.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.”

He lets his head drop a little and be drawn along with her.

When they’re in through the skylight, she starts stripping off her catsuit. Baring pale flesh in the dim but warm light of her bedroom.

“I’m filthy.”

“I like you that way.”

That gets him the barest sliver of a smile, quick and predatory, before she heads for her shower.

He follows, glad to drag back his own cowl, run his fingers through sweaty hair. The shower’s steam fills the white-tiled bathroom. It’s small, simple, utilitarian. Naked, he pulls back the plain, stark shower curtain.

She’s standing under the spray, short dark hair slicked into wavy tendrils, soaping herself with the sandalwood soap he’s started using at home. It’s nice. Not feminine or masculine, but clean and spare. Reminds him of her, and all her other scents and tastes and the way she feels...

He buries his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. He’s hard against her belly, and she looks up at him, blinking back the water to raise an eyebrow. Her lips curve and he has to kiss her.

“You taste like coffee.”

“Stopped by GPD.” He takes the soap from her hands and lathers his own, running slick hands over her shoulders, down the curve of her back: sleek, heated skin beneath his fingers. Down further, over the swell of her glutes, plump and full in his fist.

“Time for coffee with Gordon but not for our date?”

“Let me make it up to you.” That gets him another smile. A better one this time.

“How?”

His voice is hoarse against the soft column of her throat. “I could beg you.”

“You could.” She takes the soap from him. Nips the side of his jaw. “Better hurry before I’m all… clean again.”

His own mouth quirks at that and he has to…

The hot water’s eased his joints—it was a rough night—and his legs barely creak as he slides down her body to kneel on the warmed enamel of the bright white bathtub.

He rests a hand on her belly, letting his other hold her hip, digging fingers into her lush, round backside. She rebalances, spreading her legs a little and he presses a soft kiss to her stomach, right below the point where the soap is washing away, just above the neat triangle of curls, then drags his finger through them.

Selina makes a tiny, desperate noise in the back of her throat and arches toward him.

He tilts his head forward, lower and forward, up into her, and tastes. Licks his way up and in and her strong, slender fingers card through his wet hair as she makes a pleased, purring sound.

She sighs, rising on her toes and she’s good—she’s very, very good, but he knows that she’d fall if he wasn’t there for her.

She tastes… like she always does. Like everything he’s ever wanted, everything that makes him yearn and need and he works his mouth up against her. Into her, trying for more. Trying to taste her and not the water flowing down her body, but her. Selina.

He uses his tongue to spell her name against her and she cries out his. He aches at the sound of it, sucks her harder.

He slides his finger down her thigh, then up, pausing, feeling the heat and muscle. He looks up at her, and she’s panting, mouth open, watching him. She nods and he shoves his finger in, through the slickness and strength and feels her suck him inside.

She writhes up and he smiles against her, smiles at her impatience, then adds another finger and she gasps, pushing back on him.

“Yes, Bruce.”

He works her, strings her out, changes his speed and his touch, his tongue, his fingers. He curls them inside her and pushes, in and out. Over and over, lapping at her, licking at the essence she’s slicking his fingers with. Gathering, devouring the evidence of her pleasure, he feels himself getting even harder with his own. He can give her this, do this. Make it good for her.

Her hand in his hair grips harder, clutches at him. She’s grinding against his face and growling a mantra now. ‘Bruce’ and ‘yes’ and long chains of small sounds and noises that are driving him almost as crazy as the feel and taste and smell of her.

He feels her tense, knows the moment: when she tightens around his fingers, when he  
draws it out of her—the tension and the spasm and the cry.

He holds her up, supports her through it, mouthing her one last time, gently.

Her sex is swollen and thick on his tongue. He pulls his fingers out, regretfully, and he knows from the smirk she gives him as he blinks up at her that his smile is shy.

“Come on, big boy. Let’s take care of that monster of yours.”

And then he’s lifting her and she’s laughing at his eagerness, laughing as she wraps her arms and legs around him and he carries her to the bed, yanks back the bedspread, throwing her down, both of them soaking wet and dripping on her white cotton sheets.

They’re past using condoms now; it’s more intimate, messier. Hotter now that neither one of them sees anybody else. He climbs over her and lets as much of his weight as he feels he ought to… rest on her. But it’s not enough. She’s strong and bossy and pulls him down, letting him fall between her spread legs and along the length of her body and he doesn’t need her hand or his to guide himself into her. She’s so wet and he’s so ready and she tosses back her head and makes more intoxicating noises when he plunges inside.

He’s not going to last long. He’s too ready, too close from kneeling between her parted thighs in the shower. And she doesn’t want him to last, anyway. She wants him hot and panting and just like this. He knows it and he gives it to her, fast and ragged and hard. He pounds into her and she growls her approval, hooking her heels against him, urging him on, driving him harder like he’s an animal, wild with lust. She lets him rut, ruts with him until he can’t do anything but bury his face against her neck and come, moaning her name; pouring inside her, thick and deep.

“Selina,” he says again, collapsing on her for the moment he allows himself. Then pulls up, pulls away.

“Stop trying to be the gentleman, Bruce.” She yanks him back down and he covers her soft warm body with his own and a huffed exhalation of air. “I like your weight on me.”

Bruce smiles sleepily into her throat and lets himself drift off, just like that: her breathing a purr in his ear, her hand gently petting the damp hair at the nape of his neck.


End file.
